Chuck vs the Hotel Meet Cute
by fAteD lOvE
Summary: AU. Chuck works at the hotel Sarah stays at while off-mission.
1. Chapter 1

I have another idea where they could meet... airport! Where Chuck's a male flight hostess :D Gosh I'm feeling evil.

Wouldn't that be an awesome challenge to do after **WHO ARE YOU**? Competition for the most ridiculous Charah set up based on the "meet cute" conversation from _Music and Lyrics_.

Disclaimer: I had salt and vinegar chips for brunch :)

* * *

Chuck vs. the Hotel Meet Cute

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**

_Late December_

_

* * *

_

"Bartowski!"

Chuck sighed as he walked in through the large glass doors, feeling the warmth of the overhead heat-pump settle heavily on his bare neck like a scarf, the blustery winds of the cool winter air releasing their grip on his skin as the entrance slid closed behind him.

Big Mike stood with his brown ham-sized fists pressed against the counter at the opposite side of the forum, a fierce scowl on his face. "You're late again," He accused, as Chuck wound his way around the ceramic table and gigantic vase of flowers in the middle of the lobby.

It was late in the evening and the place was empty, the vaulted French-style ceiling echoing Big Mike's voice against the pearly marble floors and wooden-veneer walls. Chuck slipped behind the reception desk, opening the hidden panel behind Big Mike to stow his black coat in the small wardrobe.

"I'm sorry," Chuck finally replied, "I'm missing part of my Christmas dinner for this extra shift, you know. Ellie wasn't too happy at all."

Big Mike shrugged, "That's not my problem," he said, seeming to bulk up as he crossed his arms over his expansive chest with difficulty. "You work for a four and a half star hotel, and if you want to keep your job, you'd better be ready to miss New Years too."

Chuck checked the umbrella under the desk, ready and waiting for his use if he was called outside to help with luggage. The bellhop's luggage cart was waiting in an alcove by the side of the doors, and Tang was currently struggling to store bags in their overnight compartment.

There were only three people in the lobby at this time, and all were hotel staff. Chuck was supposed to be the unpaid front office manager, porter, front office attendant, night auditor all in one.

"Where's Morgan?" He asked, looking around for his diminutive friend.

The manager huffed, "He's working as dish-boy for the restaurant upstairs tonight, God help those poor folk in the kitchen."

Chuck looked forlornly at the grand staircases, two red paths on either side of the hall, leading to a balcony before conforming into a single way, the elevators and dining rooms on the ground floor.

He'd rather be washing up large porcelain plates than stuck down here staring out through the glass doors into the dark rainy Washington weather.

"I'm going to check whether the room's ready for our last registered check-in of the night," Big Mike announced loudly, "Those two clowns, Jeff and Lester had better have fixed up the bed in the long-term suite."

Chuck just nodded morosely, as he sat his hand on his palm, filling out some late paperwork that Big Mike had clearly left for him to complete while ignoring the evil glares Harry sent him from his position beside the door.

Five minutes later, as his eyes started to droop, and his smart concierge suit to rumple, the noise of the thunderstorm increased significantly as a biting wind swept over his exposed face, dying down as it traversed the length of the room.

The doors shut out the noise again as they sealed the entrance closed behind a dripping woman.

She handed an open-mouthed Tang the keys to her black Porsche sitting outside almost camouflaged against the night with an annoyed glance, before pulling her medium-sized suitcase after her.

The woman gave him a brief glance, and he paused instantly, feeling as though her electric blue eyes was pierced through his thoughts with that single look.

The woman looked away after that split second, and Chuck unfroze.

Chuck hurried out from behind the desk, palms sweaty, watching as Tang scrambled out of the side door eagerly to the car.

"Here, let me." He said as he took the handle of the pull-along from her, noticing her hesitate for a second before she let him take over.

Her movements were stiff as she returned her arm to her side, as if carrying an injury.

She leaned against the counter, peering over the high top to look at the ready computer sitting on the desk, "Sarah Walker, room 1081; top floor."

"Of course," Chuck affirmed as he heaved her single suitcase onto the waiting platform before reaching for the metallic rectangular case slung over her other shoulder.

Sarah stopped him with a single hand, and he fell back behind the desk, nodding as he handed her the key card, "Welcome back, ma'am," He greeted as he watched her shove the limply dangling strands of damp hair back from obstructing her vision.

Her eyes flickered impassively as she looked at his name tag.

"Thank you, Charles," She said. She pushed off the desk without another word, heading for the left staircase without another glance back.

He couldn't stop his furtive stare as she ascended lithely, letting out a deep breath that he didn't remember holding as the tension receded from his spine, feeling as time started up again after the strange encounter.

* * *

For once, Chuck was glad he'd chosen to work for this hotel; they let him work odd jobs around the place to gain more money.

He pushed the cart down the hall, counting the numbers on the doors dully.

_1077.. 1078, 1079, 1080._

"A thousand and eighty one," He murmured as he rapped on the door, listening intently for any sound of the occupant being present.

_Oh my god. _

Chuck looked around desperately for a hiding place, his face burning as he stepped quickly back.

Before he could turn, his eyes wide open and panicked, the door half-opened quickly with a jerk.

"Can I help you?" The man asked, face dark in the dim light inside, his voice clipped and impatient as he looked at Chuck distractedly, his hair tousled and bare chest gleaming with perspiration.

Chuck's fingers shook as he pulled the trolley into view, trying to block out the sound of a soft feminine sigh from inside.

"Uh," He said, sure his cheeks were beet red and his neck flushed, "I have your breakfast… that you, uh, ordered to be brought up this morning at, um, seven-thirty."

The man looked at him properly for the first time, "Ah yes, you're right," His dark blue eyes scrutinized him sharply, the shadow of facial hair tickling his jaw as he paused.

Chuck turned, heart pounding nervously as he offered the cart to the man, who pulled it in after looking thoughtfully at him.

Now the door was nearly fully open, Chuck could see the suitcase lying splayed out on the floor, and clothing draped haphazardly over the dresser and chair.

"Charles?"

Chuck looked up to see a beautiful woman peer around the door at him, her blue eyes familiar as those haunting his dreams the last few days after he'd first seen her.

The man appeared again, blocking out the dark form of his companion, and Chuck was relieved to see he had boxers around his waist.

"Charles…" His eyes suddenly brightened, and he moved forward, his hands reaching out to grasp his, "Chuck! Chuck Bartowski?"

Chuck was startled, but he bemusedly shook the other man's hand, looking at him for a closer inspection.

"Bryce Larkin!" Chuck gasped, half in horror and half in surprise, wondering how he'd ever have missed the chiseled chin and wavy hair, as well as the bright blue of his eyes.

Even now, Bryce was scoring with all the good looking women.

Bryce moved outside, utterly un-self-conscious, closing the door quietly behind him so that he and Chuck were alone in the long, lavishly decorated hallway.

"Hey buddy," Bryce greeted, looking delighted as he clapped Chuck on the shoulder. "How's it been going?"

Chuck frowned, wasn't it obvious enough with him in his uniform? "Fine," He answered, a little aloof and on guard. Surely Bryce hadn't forgotten their last meeting the day he had been kicked out of Stanford.

Now he was working at a hotel at thirteen dollars (before tax) an hour, without having a girlfriend since college, and living with his sister.

Sue him if he wasn't allowed to be angry with his former best friend-turned-nemesis these five years.

"It's been okay," Chuck said with a forced smile, and he was almost afraid to ask- "What about you?"

Bryce just smiled brilliantly, white teeth gleaming in a perfect row, "Life's been good, Chuck. Girlfriend, executive accountant, jetting all over the world…"

And it seemed his arrogance was still pretty good too, Chuck thought, deep seated resentment in his heart.

"Good for you, Bryce," Chuck said, wincing as a little of his dislike leaked into his tone.

Bryce noticed, his demeanor growing more somber as he fidgeted awkwardly. "Look," He started, "Chuck, buddy, I'm sorry about the Jill thing. It was for your own good…"

Chuck's hands curled into fists behind his back as his gaze hardened, "What do you mean? Kicking me out of Stanford? Sleeping with my girlfriend I planned to _marry _after graduation?"

His voice grew progressively louder as he spoke, and Chuck willed himself to calm down, glancing if he'd disturbed anymore out of their rooms on their floor.

"_Don't_ tell me it was for my own good," Chuck said evenly, eyes still ablaze.

Bryce looked imploring as he opened his mouth, but was suddenly cut off by another voice.

"Chuck, hey," Said Morgan as he approached tentatively with an empty cart, looking from one man to the other. "Is everything all right here?"

Chuck sent Bryce one last piercing look before turning to address Morgan, "Yeah, of course," He said. "I was just leaving. Enjoy your breakfast, Mr. Larkin."

He strode back down the corridor, ignoring Bryce's call.

"Larkin? Ah, the legendary Bryce-freaking-Larkin," he heard Morgan exclaim behind him.

"Who are _you_?" Bryce answered defensively.

Morgan responded, "I just so happen to be his life-partner, Morgan Grimes, and the person who's gonna send you back to the future!"

Chuck faced the hallway again, stepping into the elevator. The door closed just as he saw disdain and amusement flash across Bryce's face, his friendly face suddenly looking haughty as he entered his room without another word, leaving Morgan in his kung-fu pose outside.

* * *

A day later, Ellie strode into his room, newspaper clutched in hand and an unidentifiable mixture of emotions in her eyes.

"Chuck, sweetheart, have you seen this?"

She handed him the paper, and rested a hand on his arm as he straightened the front page.

_Accountant dies in unfortunate car crash._

Chuck's hand falls limply to his side as he stares at Ellie, the greyscale professional photo of Bryce printed on the front page smiling up between them.

"No, I-"

Ellie looks at him, as if unsure whether to look sympathetic or supportive.

Thrown, Chuck just gapes, "-I. No."

She sits down on his bed; hands clasped together as she watches him absentmindedly fix his tie. "How do you feel?" Ellie probed gently, patiently waiting for him to answer.

Chuck looks at her absently; he's not sure whether a million feelings tumble through his chest, or none at all in his state of shock.

"I don't know," He replied honestly, "It's hard to hate the guy now that he's gone," He explained, remembering their encounter a few days ago.

Ellie nods, chocolate eyes softening as she looks at him. "Well, I think it's a shame. Even though… you know. He _was_ your best friend."

Automatically, Chuck responds, "Morgan is my best friend."

His sister's smile wanes noticeably as her expression sours, "Way to spoil my mood," She says, "I was being properly sisterly until you had to mention that."

Chuck laughs quietly, still confused as to what he should be feeling.

Ellie takes over his tie adjusting, smoothing his collar and pulling his suit sleeve straighter over his shoulder.

"I think it's time to move on, Chuck," Ellie finally says as she stands back. For a moment, he just gazes at her thoughtfully, before she smiles at him and makes her way out the door.

A small ball of regret fizzles in his chest as he remembers his and Bryce's last conversation, and with a heavy sigh, picks up his iPhone and keys before making his way to work.

* * *

After making his way through the day with his mind unfocused while completing his tasks, Big Mike finally sends him off duty, threatening him with extra shifts if he was unable to get it together by tomorrow.

"Go have a drink, boy," He says, pushing Chuck roughly towards the hotel bar.

Being in the hotel had reminded him the whole day of Bryce. Despite everything he tried to make himself think of the other man, he couldn't stop feeling guilty.

Chuck sighed as he plodded to his favourite spot on the other side of the room from the entrance, where it was relatively free from cigar fumes and people.

His face dropped when he saw a hunched figure already sitting on 'his' stool, three bottles of alcohol propped in front, two empty, and the third well on its way.

As he approached, intending to sit a couple feet away, the person looked up, and he found himself looking into her eyes.

"Charles?"

Sarah Walker's voice was clear and lucid, eyes wary as she watched his approach.

Chuck took the seat next to her, and signaled the barkeep for his usual.

"Chuck, actually," he replied. Clutching his new drink, he downed a large mouthful before continuing, "Look, I just wanted to… I just wanted to say sorry. About your boyfriend. Bryce."

Sarah stared at the rim of her bottle before she looked at him with empty eyes, "He wasn't my boyfriend."

Chuck looked questioningly, and she reluctantly added, "It's complicated."

He looked down at the cherry wood counter under his elbows as he leaned his forehead on his fist wearily. "Well," He said finally, "Whatever you are to him, or he was to you… I'm sorry."

Sarah leaned her head on her arm that rested along the table to bring her head down to his eye-level. "Thanks," She said, eyes so tired and jaded and painful that Chuck wanted to go all Ellie-mode on her.

With great effort, he continued, "I'm sure he… was a … good guy."

For a moment, Sarah's expression wavered, and a indescribable anger lurked underneath. "Actually-" She hesitated before confessing, "He betrayed me."

Chuck looked taken aback, but he relaxed for the first time in their conversation. "I know how that feels," He mumbled, "That wouldn't be the first time he's done that." He sighed, wishing he could just be nice about Bryce for once. The guy had just died for god's sake!

Sarah chuckled quietly in agreement before she let her drink settle on the table.

"Well," She said, looking distinctly cheered up a little since their first exchange of words. "Thank you, Chuck."

He swiveled in his seat, offering his hand for her to shake, and she grasped it, her hand sliding easily into his.

"I don't know what I did, but you're welcome," He replied, wondering at the familiarity between them they had managed to build through a couple sentences about the death of a mutual acquaintance.

Sarah Walker offered one last wan smile before her features slid into an impassive expression, and she walked back out of the room along with Chuck's and most of the male population of the bar's attention fixed on her retreat.

* * *

No, I didn't bother going over this at all before I posted straight from FL's head. Should this be continued? Because it works fine as a one-shot.

This was going to be my entry for WHO ARE YOU, but... yeah.

.net/u/2098131/WHO_ARE_YOU_challenge (Go chuck it out!)

...that was pretty dry. And a complete slip of the finger, I swear.

:D


	2. Chapter 2

Yes, this is a product of my procrastination. It's amazing how much I write during exam study :D

I hope I don't ruin the first chapter with this, because originally it was supposed to be a one-shot with no Charah because I wanted to see if I could write Charah with no Charah. Heh.

Disclaimer: I weeesh I owned ze hotel, becose Chuck wot work for me.

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO**__

_Early January___

LA_**  
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* * *

Chuck Bartowski officially hated his job.

It was ten-thirty four, New Years Eve. Yet again, he found himself working a double shift because Jeff had to have his stomach pumped from alcohol over-consumption over Christmas.

Ellie had warned him, spatula threateningly raised, that he'd better be there for the countdown. Even Morgan had worked overtime these few weeks to earn tonight off to join the Bartowski festivities.

The cart screeched as he pushed it down the corridor's plush carpet, and he knocked on room 1086.

"Room service!" He called through the door, glancing at his slow-moving watch.

Inadvertently, his eyes drifted over to room 1081. He had found himself glancing at the door every time he walked this floor, unavoidably being reminded of Bryce Larkin each time.

His feelings on his former nemesis's death was still too conflicted to categorize, so he always pushed it down again, because once Bryce came to mind, so did his girlfriend.

He felt horribly guilty whenever Miss Walker came to mind, even if he didn't think of her in the romantic sense. Not that he hadn't missed the fact she was a very lovely woman. There was no sensible reason why she was a recurring thought, and he was getting frustrated with himself for thinking about the stranger. She was nobody to him except his now dead best friend's girlfriend.

That's it. Chuck thought sternly to himself, fixing a forced smile on his face as the door opened to 1086.

A pale blue eye peered out of the crack before the door opened fully. "Thank god, you're not that hairy gnome, Martin."

Chuck blinked at the tall copper-haired woman.

"Morgan?" He asked, while she leveled a scrutinizing look over him.

Her lips twitched into a small saucy smirk, she stepped out of her room, glancing down the hallway.

"I don't know," She replied, "But-"

"Please don't report him," Chuck broke in, "Ma'am, please don't sue the hotel for whatever inappropriate action he may have done. Men act rashly in the presence of beautiful women."

The lady eyed him curiously, eyes flickering to his name-tag before she leaned a hand on the door-frame, her willowy body all nice curves as she stretched it out in under the door.

His eyes widened, and he started to chuckle nervously, averting his eyes quickly from the way the silky robe settled in the hollows of her body, static making it stick to her skin.

"I'll forgive him," She said, lips in a sensual curve, "_Charles_, if you come in for a while."

Chuck smiled, feeling all his teeth show in a display of fright as he stumbled back, "I'm on my shift," He said quickly, "I- I was supposed to deliver this champagne…"

He grasped the ice bucket in a flash, holding it in front of his legs inconspicuously, "And these strawberries."

Reaching out, the woman ensnared one of the fruit in her slender fingers, sinking her teeth slowly into the red flesh.

Chuck felt his mouth filling with excess saliva, and he hurriedly swallowed.

"I can't eat all this alone, can I?" The woman asked him, her eyes hooded. Her fingers were edge of her grey robe, brushing her neckline, and Chuck's eyes were naturally drawn to the movement.

"I don't really have an appetite tonight," Chuck laughed uneasily, he offered her the bucket and almost jumped when her cold fingers gripped his wrist with surprising strength.

She fingered his hair, and her other hand maintained its deathly grip on his arm. "Nonsense," The woman purred, "It's the New Year, I want to see a fireworks show tonight."

With a tug, he stumbled further into the room. Chuck glanced wildly back to the hallway where the cart sat innocently, and he gaped at it as if his mouthed words would bring it to life to rescue him.

Desperately, he lunged for the door as she started to close it, but as if she had eye in the back of her head, her hand came up, and before he could register the tilting of his vision, he was on the floor, dazed.

"Good boy," She said, lifting her leg, the robe falling away to reveal smooth skin as it ascended enough for her four inch heel to rest on his chest.

Chuck struggled to get up, heart hammering as the door inched closed. "Rape! Rape!" He all but screamed, "Oh my god, help!"

Her eyes were alight with amusement as she regarded him with something akin to a scientist studying a specimen.

"You're cute," She said lightly, "We'll have fun."

Chuck almost cried, he was pathetic, brought down by a beautiful woman. He was so weak. Harry Tang was right.

"Trying to abduct another one, Carina?" A female voice asked from behind the door.

Carina's face showed genuine surprise and let go of the door, her expression relaxing when she spoke, "No, he came willingly under my charm, of course."

The door wasn't open enough for Chuck to see his blessed rescuer, but he could see black tights and a professional pencil skirt and part of a navy blue blouse.

"Ah," The other woman said knowingly, "Don't be too rough with him. Remember what happened to the last one?"

Chuck slammed his palms against the floor, flailing about again but feeling Carina's spike push down harder with almost no effort at all.

"You're crazy! You people are crazy!" He yelled frantically, "Help! Rape!"

A head peered around the door at him, and the door was pushed all the way open. "Chuck?"

Chuck stopped struggling for a moment to look up, face flushing under the gaze of Sarah Walker.

"Sarah!" He shouted in relief, "Please, help!"

Carina faced him fully, standing next to Sarah. "You two know each other?"

Chuck flinched when she swooped down quickly next to his face, playfully flicking his nose, "Why didn't you tell me your name was Chuck? It would be so much easier to call while you're ravishing me."

Sarah's palm was on Carina's shoulder, and Chuck breathed out deeply when her face retreated from his personal bubble, "Carina, take it easy."

"Oh," Carina said, a look of dawning realization on her face, "So _that's_ how you know each other…"

"No!" Sarah said quickly, Chuck watching with interest as her face reddened, "He's… he was, one of Bryce's old college buddies."

At Bryce's name, the atmosphere darkened significantly, and Carina's voice was low, "So he's-"

"No," Sarah said again, "No, he's not."

"I'm not what?" Chuck asked loudly, "I'm still here, you know. On your floor. It's cold down here."

Carina ran her heel over his neck delicately, and he shivered, eyes bulging in his efforts to track the movement of the dangerously sharp object, "Not for long," She assured him.

Suddenly a hand came into view, and Chuck traced the limb back to the origin.

"Carina, let him go," Sarah said as she pulled him to his feet.

With a breath of release, he awkwardly staggered to his feet, standing closer to Sarah, eying Carina warily.

As unapproachable as Sarah had looked the first time she strode into the hotel, her frigidness had slowly dissipated when he'd next met her in the bar.

"Oh come on," Carina said to Sarah, winking at Chuck over Sarah's shoulder, "Look I'll even let you share him."

Chuck backed his way to the door furtively.

"Carina," A note of warning was in Sarah's voice now, and Carina looked sullen. Chuck couldn't see Sarah's face, but her voice was enough indication of her expression.

His foot knocked against the bucket, the melted ice water sloshing against the sides, a little slipping out to dampen the end of his trousers.

"Fine," Carina grumbled.

When Sarah turned towards the door, Carina grinned for a second, mouthing 'Call me' at Chuck.

He steered himself clear of her room, the fastest he'd moved since high school basketball.

Sarah closed the door quietly behind her, and Chuck waited by the trolley.

"Thanks," He said quietly with a warm smile, "For saving me, I mean."

His rescuer stood a meter from him, one hand around the handle of a briefcase. She returned a small nod, "It's fine."

The moment grew a little uncomfortable and he shifted from foot to foot.

"I'd better go," Sarah finally said, moving towards her own door, "Really long day at the office today."

Chuck nodded, and regained his grip on the trolley handle, a fierce debate raging within him.

"Listen-" He blurted out as she was halfway through into her residence, "Since Bryce…"

Her head was ducked, but he could tell she was listening by the tensing of her shoulders, "Since… uh, if you have nothing to do tonight, since it's New Years in… less than an hour and fifteen minutes. We'd be glad to have you over."

She didn't reply, but he forged on, unable to stop his babble, "My sister- there's going to be food, drinks, company…"

There was a sad glint in her eyes when she looked at him guardedly. Her skin looked paler, her eyes more weary since the last time they'd met in the bar downstairs. "I'm not sure it's a good idea, Chuck."

Chuck shoved his hands into his pockets restlessly, "I just thought- I know I don't know you. But Bryce did… and I owe him. It'll be a kind of… farewell for him, I guess. Even if- even if he betrayed you. Since I don't know where and when he's going to be buried. I'm not sure… I should even go to his funeral."

Sarah gazed at him fully, but he couldn't decipher any thoughts she might have had.

"I mean, if you want some company tonight," He rambled, recycling his words again, "I just thought… you know, it's only been a few days since…"

"Okay."

Chuck snapped his gaze from the floor up to her, "Really?" He asked cautiously, the affirmation too soft for him to be sure it was what she'd said.

"Yes."

Placing her suitcase by the door, she closed and locked it before looking at him expectantly.

Chuck grinned, "Oh, great, let me just put this in the storeroom, and we'll leave."

Stowing the giant linen basket full of used bedsheets and empty serving tray in the small room, he led the way down to the foyer with Sarah following him calmly.

"How do you usually get home?" Sarah asked casually as they walked out of the hotel.

Chuck froze, before giving a little bashful laugh, "I forgot. I usually borrow my sister's car, or her boyfriend drives me."

Sarah fished out her key, looking at him with humour in her eyes, "Are you sure you're not just taking advantage of a lift home from me?"

"Oh ho," Chuck said, raising his hands in defense, "No, of course not."

She walked towards the parking lot confidently, "I'm just joking, Charles."

His long strides caught up to her easily, and he looked around the dark a little warily, "It's Chuck, Miss Walker."

In an equally serious voice, she stopped by her black Porsche, "It's Sarah, Mr. Chuck."

With an admiring glance, he swept his hand up the clean lines of the sports car, wondering what executive job she had to have to be able to own this fine piece of engineering.

"Thanks for making me feel like I'm in Pride and Prejudice, Miss Walker," He teased, a pleased smile on his face at the firm 'clunk' of the door as the he pulled the door fluidly open by the handle.

She was already seated, and Chuck grazed his head on the roof before he managed to fold himself gingerly into the passenger seat.

"I hardly doubt I'm in denial of my feelings, Mr. Chuck," Sarah says coolly, starting the ignition.

Chuck was caught up in their easy banter the whole way back to Burbank, delighted the conversation flowed easily, even though Sarah barely offered anything personal about herself.

* * *

They burst into the courtyard at ten past eleven, ignoring the startled glances of Ellie's doctor friends.

Chuck ignored the curious looks as he led Sarah further into the apartment complex.

"Chuck!"

He turned to see Ellie, wine glass in hand, Devon in the other.

"Finally," She emphasized, "I thought you got abducted on your way home or something."

Chuck chuckled nervously, "Sis, you know how many women throw themselves at me all the time."

His sister rolled her eyes, patting his cheek fondly as she hugged him tightly, whispering in his ear, "I invited some real, live, women for you tonight, Chuck."

He drew away, shaking his head in exasperation at her, "Ellie…" He groaned.

Ellie donned a pleading expression, "Chuck Bartowski," She slurred in one long syllable, "Please for the love of god, pick one, _any_ one, for a New Years kiss. Please."

Devon intervened, pulling Ellie into his arms, "Babe…"

"Just one," Ellie reminded Chuck through Devon's attempts at distracting her, "Just one. For me."

"That's wrong on so many levels," Chuck informed her.

Ellie's eyes widened when Sarah finally stopped looking around at the beautiful decorations, the lights hanging like little stars against the velvet sky over the courtyard, strung across apartments.

"Chuck." Ellie gestured to Sarah excitedly, "Chuck. Did you bring a_ girl_ home?"

"Wow, sis, I'm offended by your tone," Chuck ribbed, but he stepped back to allow Sarah to be seen, "No, this is Sarah."

Before Ellie could comment, Chuck added, "Bryce's girlfriend."

The doctor's elated look gave way to a somber expression, as she held out her hand to Sarah. "Nice to meet you, Sarah. I just wish it weren't under these circumstances."

Sarah took Ellie's hand, but the older woman used it as a chance to grab the blond in a hug.

"I'm Ellie Bartowski," She introduced when she finally let go, "This is Devon. It's awesome to have you."

* * *

"Here," Chuck offered the beer to Sarah, sitting down beside her on the ledge of the fountain. He spread his hands out on both sides and leaned back, gazing at the sky.

"Thank you."

Chuck tilted his head to look at her, a friendly smile on his lips, "So what do you do that makes you travel so much?"

Sarah took a careful sip of her drink, licking her lips, "I'm a businesswoman, I work with promoting."

"Ah," Chuck nodded sagely, "I can see why you'd be good at that," He said flippantly.

Sarah narrowed her eyes at him, but a touch of a smile was on her mouth. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing. I just feel sorry for your customers; it would be hard for anyone to refuse you anything."

Chuck shut up as soon as the last word left his mouth, locking his mouth tightly. He could've hit himself for the slip. It wasn't exactly the best impression to hit on a man's girlfriend a week shy of his death.

But Sarah didn't comment, instead she just took another mouthful of beer. He felt her gaze on him even though he was watching Morgan climbing into his room through his window.

"I'm leaving tomorrow," Sarah offered after a short silence.

His ears perked up. It had been rare that Sarah would offer anything about herself tonight. He had been careful, sensing her reluctance to talk about herself, so he'd taken the course of the conversation upon himself.

As casually as he could, he showed her a mildly interested look. "Oh? To Paraguay to quell a revolution with a fork?"

Her cheeks started dimpling in that cute way, not nearly a smile, but at least the start of one. "Only if you turn up with a spoon to help me," She said.

Chuck laughed, wondering internally how she could tell a joke and remain nearly straight faced. "I could hardly handle your friend, Carina."

There was a secret gleam in her eye, "Not many can."

Chuck tapped the empty glass of his bottle against the side of the fountain, listening to the clinks in between the cadence of the falling water behind him.

"So which country should I be addressing a letter to you?" He asked.

Sarah pressed her lips together before she spoke, quietly, "Paris."

"The city of love," Chuck said lightly, "Maybe that's where you'll find it…"

"Find what?"

He looked at her seriously, a grin tugging at his face, "Your dream shoe."

Sarah chuckled, but she stood up, glancing at her watch. "Maybe."

Chuck stood up with her, taking her empty drink and placing it by his on the ground.

"It was nice tonight," Sarah said. Chuck thought he was getting better at reading her when he caught the small tone of appreciation in her voice, "Thank you, Charles."

He shook his head, "Chuck."

"Okay," Sarah conceded, "I'll remember that. Chuck."

They stand a little uncomfortably, in this odd situation.

"Stay safe," Chuck offered his hand, unable to think of anything to say that was too polite, too friendly, or too assuming, for their particular circumstance.

She slipped her hand into his, gripping it firmly.

It was only then, as she leaned in close, a brief flash of her perfume registering with his mind, he realised they had been counting down the seconds till twelve.

"Happy New Year," Sarah said as she brushed her lips over his cheek.

Chuck smiled a full Bartowski grin at her, watching her melt into the shadows, the light catching a flash of her blond hair before she left the premises.

* * *

Ah, no, I didn't proof read it. Do I ever bother?

I love writing Carina :)


	3. Chapter 3

This was just sitting on my computer so I thought I'd dust it off.

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE  
**

_Mid-February_

LA

_

* * *

_

"What a mess-up," Sarah muttered savagely under her breath, almost throwing her keys at the cowering Asian man standing by the entrance in her bad mood.

The analysts had given her compromised Intel and she'd walked straight into an ambush, making it out alive minus a temporary partner and gaining a bullet to her previously injury-plagued shoulder for her troubles.

Her luggage had been already forwarded to her hotel room, so she hefted her handbag tighter over her undamaged arm, leaning to that side to compensate for the stiffness on her other side.

"Sarah Walker," She said stiffly to the big man at the reception desk.

"Yes ma'am, your room's ready. Welcome back, Miss Walker," 'Big Michael' said with an over-enthusiastic smile.

Unable to excavate a smile from her stony expression, she nodded curtly at him while his smile fell. He handed her the key card in a paper case, and without pause, she swiveled on her heels, marching straight for the stairs.

Even at this distance, she could smell the roast chicken from the buffet as she waited in the hallway for the elevator. Her stomach rumbled, but stepping decisively through the open door, she jabbed the button for the sixteenth floor before she could regret it.

Deciding to find Carina before she ate, she suffered through the dreadful elevator music, leaving the elevator as soon as the doors parted. She made her way through the familiar surroundings; easily finding the DEA agent's room without help of the door numbers.

"Carina?" She called impatiently, rapping on the door in staccato.

It wasn't often both of them were at the hotel at the same time, either in Washington receiving orders or overseas- but she always made it a point to take the opportunity to see the other agent. In this business, one didn't have friends. But it was as close to the luxury as she got.

There was no response and the edges of the door were dark, showing no signs of movement or light inside. Expecting the result, she continued down to her own suite with only a stab of disappointment. She loitered outside for a moment to confirm she wasn't tailed before she slipped inside her private residence.

The space wasn't as large as her place in DC, but the CIA had upgraded the room significantly to cater to her comforts: including a walk-in wardrobe of mounted guns and hidden wall panels of knife racks.

There was nowhere safe in the world for a paranoid agent, but this was where she could let her guard down more than anywhere else.

Glancing at the bed, she looked away quickly again. After Bryce's death, she hadn't stayed long in LA, nor in Washington when receiving her orders. She'd been gone for several weeks around the world, putting him out of her mind, but now she was back in her 'home' where everything was supposed to be 'normal', and the memories were still lingering, un-dealt-with and fresh like a festering wound.

Thinking of Bryce in the empty room depressed her even more. She was an agent, used to being alone, but tonight it was too much. She'd rather be alone and surrounded by strangers and white noise. She ditched the idea of room service for the restaurant downstairs.

After checking over her locked suitcase that sat on the end of the bed, she locked the room again. A short, bearded man was outside in the hallway wrestling some large bags into a room while his balding co-worker sat snoring with his back against the silver framework of the luggage platform.

Sarah turned her head to obscure her face when the bellhop stared at her as if he'd seen her before. His uniform reminded her of the other hotel worker, the tall one with the warm dark eyes.

_Charles,_ her mind supplied easily as if it had been buried in her thoughts, even though her consciousness had discarded it as soon as she left the hotel for Paris.

Well, if Carina wasn't here to entertain her, maybe she could seek him out during the brief transition before she was re-assigned again.

_Don't get compromised,_ She reminded herself sternly. It didn't matter who it was, the truth was, when you spent enough time with a civilian, a companionship-deprived agent was always in danger of forming attachments.

Thus, agents usually had partners. Both on work and out of work to keep each other company.

"Table for one," She said to the maître d' at the door, discreetly smoothing out her black work dress with her fingers. Sarah fixed a confident look on her face to cover the feeling of being self-conscious. She towered conspicuously over the people sitting down at the tables in her heels. She felt much too tall with her lofty five foot nine frame, it didn't help that the people waiting behind her, even the standing men, were at least a head shorter.

"This way, ma'am," He gestured for her to follow the attendant further into the golden-lit room. He stopped near the fall of rich scarlet curtains that brushed the floor, and showed her to the small table sitting in a cosy spot overlooking the restaurant.

Sarah accepted the menu and wine list, reading through the courses to look busy even though she knew exactly what she wanted to order.

She hated the time in between missions, when she was forced to stay put waiting for orders. It always made her feel alone and insignificant while she wasn't saving the world.

"May I take your order, ma'am?"

Looking up, she closed her menu without a second glance, ordering without hesitation. She added, "I'll have your recommendation for the wine."

"Very good," He took the menu back. "Would you like the soup of the day, ma'am?"

"Please," She confirmed, watching him flip the notebook closed with a flourish.

When he left, she let her eyes flit over the expansive room again; from the quartet playing on the slightly elevated stage, to the large floor-to-ceiling window a few meters away, and the night sky beyond.

She sighed, twirling her empty wine glass around her fingers, her attention on the flickering orange flame of the candle that lit a halo of light around her table.

"Soup of the day," A cheery new voice announced beside her, "And your wine selection, ma'am."

Barely surprised, having picked out his directly approaching footsteps before he spoke, she watched him bend over to place the steaming bowl before her. "Ma'am," He held out the cork, and she took it with ease.

The man shook the cloth from its neatly folded corners while waiting for her judgment.

Sarah opened her eyes after sampling the wine, to find part of her vision obstructed by tamed brown curls.

"Charles?" She questioned, recognizing his side profile.

He stood straight after the cloth was laid over her lap, other hand poised to fill her glass. Sarah felt goosebumps ripple over her exposed arms after his warmth drew away.

"Ms. Walker!" He exclaimed, a brilliant smile washing over his face. "Welcome back!"

"It's great to be back," Sarah admitted. She gestured, "It's nice to see you again, Chuck."

He had his tongue between his teeth as he poured the wine gently, handing it to her with a grin. "I can't imagine- it must be great to be you… getting to fly everywhere, being in one continent in the morning, and in another in the afternoon…"

She was taken aback a little, surprised he remembered the sparse information she'd offered a long time ago of her whereabouts. "I suppose…"

Chuck just nodded animatedly, "I'd kill to be in your shoes."

"No, you really wouldn't."

He shrugged without enthusiasm, "Anything's better than boring ol' Burbank."

Sarah stared into the dark depths of her wine glass. "I like it here. I like having somewhere to come back to, which never changes; you know how it works, where everything is, how it's supposed to be."

She met his inquisitive gaze and forced her features to lighten up, "Chuck, you've got great friends, a loving family… I don't know why you'd ever want to leave."

Chuck laughed cheerfully, "You're right. I'm happy here with my mediocre existence, my video game nights and failing to live up to my five year plan."

His joking tone made her laugh- a scratchy, small laugh. But a laugh nonetheless. She couldn't remember the last time she'd brought that particular expression out of storage.

Their brief interlude seemed to reach its conclusion as they just looked at each other wordlessly. Chuck glanced over his shoulder, and looked apologetic. "I've got to serve the other tables now. But listen, it's great seeing you back, Sarah."

He stepped back, "Maybe I'll see you around."

"Yeah," Sarah felt an easy smile blossom on her face. "I hope so."

It was only when he turned around that she realised she'd revealed more of herself than she'd intended to. Strangely, she didn't mind. It was nice talking to someone who wasn't aware of her background; it left less room for judgment.

It couldn't hurt to tell him anything. The great thing about a civilian was that they weren't part of the spy world, out of the espionage and national secrets. It made it that much easier to open up. The constant traveling took its toll, it was oddly refreshing to let herself unwind, even the infinitesimal amount that she allowed herself, before she had to don her next identity for her next mission.

Watching Chuck over the rim of her wineglass, she let herself sink into her chair. He was laughing with a couple in the middle of the restaurant; the candlelight from the table illuminated his olive skin and made his eyes dance. She envied the way he didn't hold anything back, his laugh was loud and boisterous and fantastic.

He'd be a perfect way to make herself forget about her career for a minute and just have fun. Maybe she'd ask him to show her around while waiting for Graham to clean up the mess of her last assignment.

There'd be no strings attached, no attachments; Chuck stuck her as the kind of guy to be easy-going and wouldn't pressure her into thinking about being more than friends. Because in her line of work, people you slept with, may be the ones you'd have to kill the next day.

Chuck looked vaguely thunderstruck when she asked when his shift ended as he brought her the cheque book, but paired his response up with a lopsided smile. "I can take you to the Santa Monica pier for ice cream. It's beautiful at night. It sounds kind of lame… but then so am I."

"No, it sounds great," Sarah assured him.

"Okay, um see you at nine."

"Nine," Sarah confirmed.

* * *

"Soooo…"

"Hey Morgan," Chuck said without looking up. "What's up, dude?"

Morgan not satisfied with the lack of eye contact; he kamikaze'd Chuck's efforts to make the bed by falling onto the mattress and rolling so that he was face to face with Chuck.

"Is there anything you want to tell me?"

"Nope."

"So," Morgan prodded, "You don't want to comment on the biggest event to happen in Chuck Bartowski's life in over five years?"

"Morgan, get off the bed," Chuck tried to push his friend off the edge. "And no, I don't know what you're talking about."

"The last time I checked you weren't blind. I may or may not be talking about tall, blonde, and beautiful."

Morgan put his head on his hand and leaned onto his side. He plucked up his lips.

"Ew, Morgan, that's not exactly the image of beauty."

Morgan bounced onto all fours and crawled towards Chuck, "Rawr."

The sound of the door swinging open with a bang made both men look over.

"GRIMES! BARTOWSKI! …GRIMES?"

Big Mike stood with his hands on his waist, his eyes popping as he took in the situation. "Bartowski, Bartowski… I knew it. I've always been suspicious about your feminine sensibilities. Those fine features of yours, son, belong on a woman. I guess this is as close as it'll get."

"Big Mike, I can explain!"

"Save it Charlie, my boy. I've been through the same thing at your age." Big Mike said with a faraway gaze.

"… What?"

Big Mike heaved a great sigh. "Those terrifying moments when I've wondered whether I was like the other boys. That unhealthy fascination with those white, football jocks- more than once I hid myself in a locker as they come traipsing in from a gruelling training session, sweaty and-"

"Oh geez," Morgan groaned, falling off the bed with his fingers stuck in his ears.

Chuck just stood with a grimace on his face; he could feel his eyes bulge in disbelief.

Big Mike snapped back to the present, his face redder than a ripe tomato as he readjusted his shoulders and pulled at his collar. He cleared his throat, "Turn off the heaters, Bartowski. It's much too hot in here."

Morgan coughed.

"Well, what are you two fools standing there for?" Big Mike bellowed, managing to haul his considerable weight to the door in a split second. "This room needs to be ready in ten minutes! Get to it!"

The door slammed shut.

"I'll never look at him the same again," Morgan declared.

"Uh…"

Gravely, Morgan shook his head. "The things that man has gone through in his life... Sickening, but so deeply emotionally moving."

Chuck blinked, "Morgan?"

Morgan laughed, grinning, "Joking, Chuck! I was joking. I'd like to pretend I never heard that little anecdote."

Chuck breathed a sigh of relief, "Same here."

"But back to the topic before we were interrupted…"

Suddenly finding the pattern on the duvet very interesting, Chuck straightened out the creases from Morgan's body and rearranged the pillows. "She's nobody."

"Ah, I think our communication skills are improving. You've acknowledged her existence; that there is a 'she', specifically. That's great Chuck, we're really bonding here buddy…"

"Morgan…"

"Charles."

Morgan lifted up his eyebrows expectantly. Under the "Dr. Morgan, unqualified and uncertified M.D." look, Chuck's resolve broke.

"Her name's Sarah, okay?"

"Hm, okay," Morgan said, satisfied. "That's aaall I needed to know."

Chuck frowned, "What?"

"I just wanted to make you admit it. So that if you need to talk to me later about this, you can, because the ice is broken, in a manner of speaking of course."

A small grateful smile broke over Chuck's face, "Wow, Morgan. That was uncharacteristically thoughtful."

"I know, right?" Morgan looked smug.

Packing up his supplies back into the trolley, Chuck shrugged and decided to elaborate. "Sarah's just someone I met back at Christmas, just after Bryce died. I met her through Bryce."

"See, the ice-breaker worked. You're already talking." Morgan helped him empty the rubbish bins and called across the room, "How'd Bryce know her?"

"She was his girlfriend. Or something along those lines. It sounded really complicated when she mentioned it briefly."

Morgan winced, "Ouch. Okay, so she's untappable material, huh."

Chuck rolled his eyes, "Yes Morgan. I wasn't planning to uh, 'tap', her. I'm just as surprised as you are that she wants to hang out with me. The last time I saw her was on New Years, at Ellie's party. We talked for a while; she was flying out the next day."

"I suppose it's not exactly a chore to spend time with a pretty lady like that. You have the Morgan-approval. I have a good feeling about this, Chuck."

"You said that about the mystery meat last week before you ate it… and had to get rushed to the emergency clinic."

"Charles, my man, I puked because Jeff happened to bend over to look inside the fridge and I got an eyeful of what seemed to be a hot red g-string nestled in his butt-crack." The fact Morgan looked deadly serious made Chuck swallow.

"That was oddly specific."

"Oh, that's nothing. I could tell you so much more about the pattern of the lacing in no way suited his skin."

"Please don't."

Morgan glanced at his watch, "Well, judging by the time, you should hope not, because as of now, you're… three minutes and twenty seconds late for your nine o'clock."

A flash of horror made his heart stop for a second, and then nervous anticipation set in, the wriggling worms in his stomach made him feel queasy. "Morgan! Tell me you're not lying."

"Um," Morgan glanced at his watch to double check. "Of all the things my mother failed to teach me, like personal hygiene and proper social etiquette; telling the time was not one of them."

Chuck ran his hands through his hair in panic, "How do I look? How's my hair?"

"Chuck, calm down. You said this wasn't a date, remember?" Morgan looked sympathetically at him, "You'll be fine. Assuming by the time you get down there, she hasn't left."

Shoving the trolley at Morgan, Chuck grabbed his brown bomber jacket off the stack of used linen. "Thanks buddy; I'll make it up to you later."

Morgan waved his hands at him, "Go, go!"

Chuck stumbled out the door and whipped around the corner to the elevator, jabbing at the button desperately. "Come on!"

The elevator bell pinged, opening as if answering his prayer, and a mother and her seven year old daughter followed him on.

Bobbing lightly on his heels, he rubbed his hands nervously against the side of his legs.

Behind him, he could hear the little girl whisper, "Mommy, I think the mister needs to go pee."

He turned slightly, but his shift was noticed. The woman sent an apologetic glance at him.

Chuck laughed nervously, "I think I do, sweetheart."

The woman looked at him knowingly, "Meeting your date?"

"Something like that," Chuck agreed. "And late, no less."

The metal in front of him slid open, and he bounded forward immediately with a wave to the elevator's other occupants. His long legs ate up the floor quickly, and he clattered down the grand staircase and down the second flight on the left, breathing heavily.

His Chucks made a horrible skid noise as he cleared the last steps with an ungainly jump.

There was only one person at the atrium this late, and Chuck attempted to straighten himself up as he approached.

"Hi," He greeted, his voice still slightly breathless. "Sarah."

She looked up quickly and he saw a small smile lighten her face from the somber expression she'd had directed at the floor before. "Hey."

Sarah reached out, stepping closer simultaneously. "You look winded." She adjusted his collar which was wildly askew.

"Yeah, I got distracted. Morgan… well, was Morgan."

"Morgan," Sarah said slowly, "He's your friend. The short one who jumped into the fountain just before I left, singing _'Let's Get Physical'_?"

Chuck laughed, "That wasn't one of his proudest moments. But if you asked him, he'd probably say it was."

Sarah laughed softly too, almost as an afterthought to his. "My car's outside, by the way."

"Good thing too, because between New Years and today I haven't got enough money to pay for gas, let alone buying a proper car."

Chuck waited… there it was. A white flash of teeth. Quick, but it was a definite smile.

"That's actually a nice change. Most of the guys I work with, or have come across, could all afford a whole Porsche dealership and more."

"Oh," Chuck nodded, a little embarrassed.

Sarah seemed to pick up on it and nudged him with a shoulder as they walked through the revolving doors, "But they're all arrogant pricks. Not like you, Chuck."

He looked appreciatively at her, but she was preoccupied by the valet.

Turning to the gleaming machine in front of him, he couldn't help feeling like it was the first time he'd seen it. The polished paint-job seemed to purr under the attention and the spotlights lining the brick pathway.

"Come on Chuck, get in," Sarah spoke from behind him, going around to the other side of the car.

Almost afraid his fingerprints would mar the surface, he used two fingers to lever open the door and slide onto the cool tan-coloured leather. Settling into the seat, he saw Sarah's smirk with his peripheral vision.

"What?" He asked with a smile.

"If you treat my car like that, I can't imagine how you'd be with a woman."

Chuck blushed, and tried to sink into his chair. "Like a gentleman, I'd hope," He replied.

Sarah looked like she wanted to say something more, but taking pity on him; she turned her attention to the steering wheel with a grin.

* * *

So I read my author's note last chapter and apparently I wrote that one out of sheer boredom of studying. That's ironic. Nearly exactly a year later and I'm doing exactly the same thing.

Heh :)


End file.
